Alright, let’s talk about this 2 miles in 12 minutes thing. It sounds simple, right? Just run kinda fast for a bit. Well, let me tell ya, getting there was a journey.
When I first decided to give this a shot, I wasn’t exactly in peak condition. My first attempts were… humbling. I’d start out okay, feeling strong, but by the half-mile mark, my lungs felt like they were on fire, and my legs were screaming at me. Clocking in way, way over 12 minutes, more like 15 or 16 on a good day initially. It was clear I needed a plan, or at least, just needed to run more consistently.
Getting Into the Groove
So, I started making it a regular thing. Didn’t overthink it too much at first. Just put on my shoes and went out the door. Three, sometimes four times a week. Some days were just easy jogs, getting the miles in. Other days, I’d push the pace a little, maybe try running faster for short bursts. Nothing fancy, no complex spreadsheets or heart rate monitors clamped everywhere. Just running.
I learned pretty quick that consistency was the big thing. Even on days I didn’t feel like it, I dragged myself out. Sometimes those were the best runs, surprisingly. Other times, they were just a slog, but I did ’em anyway. I started paying attention to how I felt, figuring out a pace I could hold without completely burning out too early.
There were definitely days I felt like I was going backwards. Ran slower than the week before. Felt heavy. Got a stitch in my side. You know how it goes. But I kept reminding myself of that 12-minute goal. It wasn’t about breaking world records; it was just a personal target I’d set.
Making the Push
After a few months of steady running, I felt different. Stronger. My breathing was more controlled. I decided it was time to really focus on that 2-mile time trial again. I picked a route I knew well, mostly flat.
The first few “serious” attempts were close, but no cigar. 12:45… 12:30… 12:15… Frustrating, yeah, but also encouraging. I was getting there. I realized I needed to go out a bit uncomfortable from the start, not save everything for a final kick that might never come.
Then came the day. Weather was decent, felt pretty good. Warmed up a bit, took a deep breath, and just went for it. Pushed that first mile harder than usual, checking my watch – felt quick, maybe too quick? Second mile was tough. Everything started telling me to slow down. Had to really dig deep, focusing on just keeping my legs turning over, keeping my breathing steady as possible.
Coming up on the finish line, I glanced at my watch… looked like it was going to be really, really close. I emptied the tank, pushed as hard as I could for those last hundred yards or so.
Stopped the watch. Looked down. 11 minutes, 56 seconds.
Just stood there for a minute, hands on my knees, gasping for air, but man, what a feeling. Didn’t jump up and down or anything, just a quiet sense of satisfaction. Did it. That simple number, 12 minutes, felt like a big hurdle cleared. It wasn’t magic, just putting in the time, showing up, and pushing through the discomfort. Pretty good feeling, that.
